John Haines, RIP

Poet, John Haines, 1924 - 2011

The passing of poet John Haines somehow passed me by. It wasn't until I saw his memorial in the latest issue of Poetry magazine that I discovered he'd entered the world of ancestry. He was one of the first poets that I really chose to follow. His poems have been equated to prayers by fellow poet, Dana Gioia. He wrote from the depths of his experience as an Alaskan homesteader. The life he carved from wilderness was his palette.

IF THE OWL CALLS AGAIN

at dusk
from the island in the river,
and it's not too cold,

I'll wait for the moon
to rise,
then take wing and glide
to meet him.

We will not speak,
but hooded against the frost
soar above
the alder flats, searching
with tawny eyes.

And then we'll sit
in the shadowy spruce
and pick the bones
of careless mice,

while the long moon drifts
toward Asia
and the river mutters
in its icy bed.

And when the morning climbs
the limbs
we'll part without a sound,

fulfilled, floating
homeward as
the cold world awakens.

John Haines, 1924-2011